She had told herself she could get through this time easily, that at least she would be close to James, be beside him, see him sleeping and waking. But she knew now, looking at his face—the curves of his mouth, the arch of his eyelashes, sweeping down to hide his thoughts—that she would not walk away at the end of this year unscathed. She was agreeing to have her heart broken.
“Yes,” said Cordelia. “And I will not let him go.”
There was a flourish of violin music. Charlotte beamed. “It is time for the exchange of the first runes, and the second vows,” she said. Shadowhunters generally placed two runes upon each other when they were married: a rune upon the arm, given during the public ceremony, and a rune over the heart—done later, in private. One rune for the community, and one for the privacy of marriage, Sona had always said.
Matthew and Lucie turned to the altar, returning with two golden steles. “Set me as a seal upon thy heart, as a seal upon thy arm,” said Lucie, handing the first stele to Cordelia with an encouraging smile. The ritual words were ancient, freighted with the gravity of years. Sometimes they were spoken by the bride and groom, sometimes by their suggenes. In this instance, James and Cordelia had wanted Matthew and Lucie to speak.
“For love is strong as death,” said Matthew, placing the second stele in James’s hand. His tone was uncharacteristically somber. “And jealousy cruel as the grave.”
James pushed up the left sleeve of his jacket and shirt, revealing more of the runes placed on his arms earlier that day. Runes for Love, Luck, and Joy. Cordelia leaned in to place the marriage rune on his upper arm—a few quick, fluid strokes. She had to steady his arm with her free hand to do it, and she shivered a little at the contact: the hard muscle of his bicep under her fingers, the smoothness of his skin.
Then it was James’s turn; he was gentle and quick, placing the first of the marriage runes on her forearm, just below the lace edging of her sleeve.
Charlotte bent her head. “Now will you each repeat after me: ‘For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor demons, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us.’”
“For I am persuaded,” Cordelia whispered, and as she spoke the words aloud after Charlotte, she glanced sideways at James. His profile was sharp, the curve of his lips determined as he said the words after she did: “Neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor demons, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come …”
Cordelia thought, It’s happening. It’s really happening. And yet, for all that, she was unprepared for what came next. The words spoken, she and James looked at each other in relief. But it was short-lived.
“You may now kiss,” said Charlotte cheerfully.
Cordelia stared at James, openmouthed. He looked just as surprised; it seemed they had both forgotten that this would be part of the ceremony.
I can’t do it, Cordelia thought, half panicking. She could not press an unwanted kiss upon James, and certainly not in public. But he was already drawing her into his arms. His hand cupped her cheek, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth. “We’ve come this far,” he whispered. “Don’t back out on me now.”
She raised her chin, her lips grazing his. He was smiling. “I would never,” she began indignantly, but he was already kissing her. She felt the kiss, and the smile it carried, all the way down through her body and her bones. Helplessly, she caught at him, holding his shoulders. Though he kept his mouth decorously closed, his lips were incredibly soft, so soft and so warm against hers that she had to bite back a soft moan.
He drew back, and Cordelia smoothed down her dress with shaking hands. Almost before they were finished, a cheer went up from the congregation, applause punctuated with a few whistles and the stamping of feet.
The cheering continued as they linked hands and began to make their way down from the altar. Cordelia saw Lucie smile at her—and then Matthew’s face, grim and set. His expression jolted her. He must be worried about James, she realized. She couldn’t blame him. No amount of preparing for this day could have readied her for the real thing.
She was married.
She was married, and she was absolutely terrified.
They walked out of the chapel into a burst of applause and cheers that followed them into the Long Hall, and upstairs into the ballroom, where the tables had been set for the wedding feast.
Cordelia, still hand in hand with James, looked around in wonder. The ballroom had been transformed into a glittering fantasia. Sona had worked tirelessly with Tessa to plan the party, and they’d left no corner of the ballroom untouched, from the candles winking from hundreds of brass sconces to the swaths of gold silk draped at the windows. The golden hues of Cordelia’s gown were echoed again and again, in shimmering pennants and gleaming bells strung from the ceiling. Gold glinted from the ribbons that twined through garlands of tansy and Welsh poppies, and gilded the apples and pears nestled in arrangements of evergreen and white-berried quickbeam. Even the two huge tiered cakes at the center of the lavish spread were iced in gold and ivory.
There was a truly impressive spread laid out: steaming platters of roast lamb and chicken, thin pounded mutton chops, beef tongue, goose-liver pâté. Another long table was bedecked with cold salmon in a cucumber sauce; a salad of lobster and rice and another of boiled potatoes and pickles; and plump eggs suspended artfully in aspic. Interspersed among the dishes were towers of brightly colored jellies in amber, fuchsia, and green.
Cordelia exchanged amazed glances with James as their friends crowded around them. Christopher had nicked a pear from a display and seemed disappointed to discover that it was made of wax.
“Goodness, it’s magnificent,” Cordelia said, gazing around the room.
“You flatter me, darling,” Matthew said mildly. “I have been saving this waistcoat for a special occasion, though.”
Cordelia laughed just as James’s parents descended on them—wishing to congratulate them and also, Cordelia suspected, to protect them from being overwhelmed by eager members of the Enclave. Cordelia caught Will’s eye as he beamed at his son, and felt her smile slip. Of all those who believed the fiction of her marriage to James, betraying Tessa and Will was the most difficult to bear.
“I’m famished,” James whispered to Cordelia as Lucie tried to shoo their well-wishers toward the tables—as the bride and groom, they could not stop to eat until all the guests were settled. She could see the small group of her own family toward the far end of the room, Alastair and Elias helping Sona carefully into a chair. She would have liked to join her family, but Sona had already made it clear that once the ceremony was over, she would expect Cordelia to remain by James’s side. “It’s cruel to have to gaze upon a feast like that and not be able to nab so much as a biscuit.”
“Is Christopher eating his wax pear?” she whispered back. “That can’t be healthy.”
Cordelia gave up trying to keep track of all the guests; it was hard even to remember which of them she’d met before and which she hadn’t. James, presumably from years of attending Institute functions, knew almost everyone at least by name. Cordelia found herself relieved by the appearance of anyone she actually knew: Gabriel and Cecily and their toddler son, Alexander, who had been retrieved from the nursery and remained amazingly asleep through the raucous congratulations and cheers. Rosamund Wentworth, who wanted to talk about wedding cakes since “as of course you know, I am also to be married soon. Thoby, stop that and pay attention.” Thomas’s elder sister, Eugenia, recently back from Idris. Henry Fairchild, who simply held Cordelia’s hands and wished her happy with a straightforward sincerity that made her want to cry.